


Ego

by roanniom



Category: Girls (TV)
Genre: Adam Sackler/reader - Freeform, Degradation, Dirty Talk, F/M, Smut, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex, adam sackler smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-27
Updated: 2020-12-27
Packaged: 2021-03-11 01:21:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,912
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28366818
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/roanniom/pseuds/roanniom
Summary: Adam gets a good review for his play and rails you in his dressing room to celebrate.
Relationships: Adam Sackler & Reader, Adam Sackler & You, Adam Sackler/Reader, Adam Sackler/You
Comments: 2
Kudos: 26





	Ego

Sackler has been pacing back and forth in his dressing room for almost an hour now. The opening night party has dissolved beyond his closed door, people trickling out with their finery and champagne smiles. You sit on the little couch shoved in the corner of the room, watching the way Sackler paces. Back and forth and back and forth. Still in his costume from the show, never having bothered to change. You suppress a smile over how cute he looks in his old-timey tuxedo tails, his rumpled hair no longer slicked back as it had been while on stage. Hours of nervous energy and constant ruffling had loosened the waves anachronistically, juxtaposing with his posh outfit. He looks like a disheveled Mr. Darcy and you are positively salivating.

But you hold yourself in your seat. You have a mental agreement with yourself that you can have what you want when he gets what he wants. Which is a positive review.

And you know he’s going to get it. Because you watched the show yourself. You saw him up on that stage. Saw the way he carried himself, the way he spoke. The way he disappeared into the role and became a man you could barely recognize. One you only knew from his previously two dimensional existence on the pages of the script you’d helped Sackler rehearse.

“What’s fucking taking so long?”

His gruff words pierce the silence, the first sound to fill the space besides his shuffling feet in the last twenty minutes. You open your mouth to reassure him when suddenly your phone buzzes.

It’s a link to the first review. The most important review.

You’d asked a journalist friend to forward it to you the moment it was released. So you could have a moment to consider how to break it to Sackler in the event it was bad. You scan the screen quickly, eyes tripping along the text as you scroll steadily through a synopsis of the play until you get to the real reason you’re here.

Sackler stopped pacing when he heard your phone buzz. He knows what this is. Knows what you’re doing, what you’re reading. He stands before you motionless, studying your unreadable expression for any microscopic clue as to whether he’s done well or he should just pack up now, fly to the most remote section of Alaska and spend his days chopping wood or fighting fucking grizzly bears or something.

When you look up and meet his eye, finally, your smile is smug. Almost as if the good news is your own.

“They loved you,” you say simply.

Sackler is silent when he holds his hand out for your phone, which looks tiny when you place it in his ridiculously large palm. He is silent as he scrolls through the review. Not once does his facial expression change from pained restraint.

When he finishes reading he locks your phone screen and places the device on the table in front of the dressing room’s large makeup mirror. After another beat he suddenly jumps in the air.

“They fucking loved me!”

You exhale a laugh, releasing all the pent up fear and pressure you had taken on out of sympathy, out of hope, out of support, as you watch him continue to bounce all over the room. He wrenches his costume jacket off and spikes it down into a chair in aggressive triumph, pushing up his sleeves carelessly.

“‘Mr.Sackler delivers the performance of his career, setting an insurmountable bar which will no doubt only be surpassed by himself when he takes his next role.’ Wha-AT?!” he yells at you, pointing over at your darkened phone. His hands close and open in restless fists, energy with nowhere to go. You stand up and grab his hands to occupy them in some way.

“You did it, babe. That’s an honest to god good review.” Your grin mirrors his and he wrenches you forward, grabbing your waist with one hand and holding onto your jaw with the other.

“It’s the real McCoy.”

His lips crush to yours in a bruising kiss and you were right. His hands need something to occupy them. His energy needs somewhere to go. He grasps and squeezes and pinches at different places on your body. When you break away gasping for air, what breath you manage to take is stolen from you yet again as he grabs roughly at your tits, your ass.

“Mr. Sackler, don’t you think you should be sharing news of this rave review with your castmates?” you ask, voice going high at the end when he tweaks your nipple through the bra-less bodice of your velvet dress. “Tell them all they’re in the presence of “a great artist of their time,” you say, adding in the quote from the article as a joke but feeling yourself preen with pride nonetheless. 

“None of that shit actually means a fucking thing,” he says gruffly, looking down at you. But his smile gives him away. He’s ecstatic, euphoric. This is the culmination of all his hard work. And yeah it’s subjective. And yeah it’s just words. But damn if it doesn’t feel fucking incredible.

He doesn’t voice any of this. Instead he kisses you deeper, drags you back over to the tiny sofa before throwing you down on the threadbare cushions. His eyes stay trained on your breasts as they bounce along with the rest of you.

“Doesn’t mean you can’t rub it in their faces that they’re working with the hottest actor in town,” you say with a smirk. He leers above you with a look like he could devour you right there and then. Sackler uses his knee to nudge your legs open wider until one falls off the side of the couch, exposed through the high slit in your velvet dress. He places his knee heavily right there, on the couch at the apex of your legs. Pressing into your rapidly heating core.

“Sounds like you’re the one worked up over me being the hottest actor in town.” Sackler says, lowering his body slowly over you with a mightily satisfied grin. You roll your eyes and try to blow a piece of hair out of your face but he grabs your chin tightly. “It turns you on, doesn’t it.”

Fuck.

“It turns me on.” You bite your lip. Usually you’d deny it out of spite. Try to knock him down a few pegs or bruise his ego in an effort to rile him up. But not today.

Because this is the best case scenario you’d been waiting for. You love Sackler in all of his forms. Silly Sackler who teases you to no end and has the audacity to send you into a fit of laughter the exact second before you cum. Gruff Sackler who bangs his way into the apartment after a hard day and requires showers of kisses and affection before he finally cracks his thousand watt smile. Sweet Sackler, who is much like Gruff Sackler, looking to punch anything that brings you down, even if the thing bringing you down is more inanimate object or abstract occurrence than man. Insecure Sackler who doubts his own talent but consistently works for what he wants, day in and day out, because, gruffness and silliness aside, he is passionate as hell and good at what he does.

You love all those Sacklers.

But this Sackler – confident Sackler. Self-satisfied Sackler. You’re practically salivating at the chance to know him. And rather than chip at his ego, you’re ready to do anything you can to stroke it.

“It turns me on,” you repeat, running your hands up his now rumpled tuxedo shirt. “It turns me on like you have no idea.”

Sackler’s eyes widen exponentially for a millisecond, surprised to find you playing along when he’s so used to playful resistance. But he recovers quickly and his eyes narrow.

“Oh yeah?”

“Oh yeah,” you breathe, slowly untying the black butterfly bowtie, your favorite part of the costume he still has on, all these hours after curtains. When you have it open you don’t slide it off, however. Instead you tug on both sides of the scrap of fabric, pulling his neck down so you can capture his lips in a kiss. He practically growls into it, taking this as his cue to resume the wandering of his hands across your entire body. You break for air but make sure to place your greedy inhales and exhales right at his ear as his lips move to work your collar bone.

“I’ve been wet for hours. Ever since I saw you on that stage.” Sackler bites down on you when he hears you say this and you gasp, dizzied by the suddenness of the action. His hips buck down into you and you are satisfied enough by the hardness that meets your pelvis that you keep going.

“And reading that review, I couldn’t help but think about all those people out there watching you. Seeing how great you are.” You’re unbuttoning his shirt now and pushing it off his shoulders. Sackler screws his face up in discomfort and hums exasperatedly. He shoves his face down into your cleavage and shakes his head violently from side to side for a second before looking up and letting out a groan. His eyes look resolved. Like he’s made a decision about something.

“You’re jealous of all the women who watched me, aren’t you?”

Blinking up at him you think about it. You really aren’t jealous at all. But it dawns on you that, ecstatic as he may be over his moment of success, he is still uncomfortable about the whole thing. He’s turning this on you, turning it outward. Making it a fantasy for you both. Your lips turn up at the corners and you smooth your hands across his now exposed pecs.

“Beside myself with jealousy.”

Sackler’s hand wraps around your throat for a second before it begins a journey downward. Between the curves of your breasts, over the plane of your stomach, around your hip, and down your thigh until it reaches the slit in your dress. His large hand reaches under the fabric and comes to rest over your mound.

“My little slut wants me all to herself, does she?”

Your stomach flips at his words and your eyelids flutter, not anticipating how much this would work you up.

“Yes,” you say, setting your jaw. “I do.”

Sackler clicks his tongue disapprovingly but a wide smile breaks out on his face. Two fingers slide under the fabric of your panties and into the wetness that has gathered for him.

“Mmm is this pussy wet all for me?”

You nod because he’s thrust both fingers deep inside and suddenly it’s a little harder to speak than before.

“You’re practically dripping. And all because your boyfriend got a good review, you little whore.”

You gasp as his thumb meets your clit just as his fingers begin pumping in and out, in and out.

“Yes. You were so fucking hot up there tonight, baby,” you practically whine. “And everybody – fuck – everybody knows it.”

Sackler tugs at the neckline of your dress’s bodice and your tits pop out, jutting up and into his face as he intended. He devours you as he continues to work your wet, hot core.

“My little slut can’t stop thinking of how good I am.”

“You’re so goodsogood baby.” Your words slur together as the pressure he puts on your clit increases. Sackler lifts his mouth from where it had been sucking on your nipple.

“You like it when I’m successful, don’t you? It makes you feel important by extension. Sexy.” He pinches your nipple in time to the rolling of your clit and you undulate your hips in pleasure.

“Fuck!”

You feel his length through his pants, insistent and hot and huge against your thigh. You moan and close your eyes, lost in the feeling of his fingers in and on you and desperate to express the fact that you want more. You want him.

“What are you thinking about?”

The question forces your eyes open and you meet his probing ones, gazing at you from between your breasts, large fingers stilling in your slick pussy. He asks this question usually in sessions much rougher than this. Trying to gauge if you’re still with him, if you’re still as into everything as he is. It feels out of place in this moment but it registers somewhere inside you that he might be more sensitive to the fact that everything is currently centered on his praise. And your silly, gruff, sweet Sackler wants to make sure it’s still working.

You grab his arm and pull him up your body and into a searing kiss before speaking again into his ear.

“Right now I want the hottest actor in town inside of me.”

Sackler’s fingers are ripped from you faster than you can even cry out and he’s yanking you up from your reclined position.

“Couch. Bend over – now.”

His words come out choppy as he wrestles with the fastener on his Regency-era-specific pants. A thrill shoots through you as you bend over the arm of the couch, lifting your dress to expose and push out your ass.

Sackler lands a light slap to your right cheek – not quite a spank but enough to make you inhale sharply – before gripping your hips and pulling you back roughly against his. He is rock hard against you. You can picture his cock now – red and swollen and throbbing.

While you’re fantasizing about the cock you love so much, Sackler slides it inside you, making you let out a long moan.

“Fuck, Adam.”

“My little slut, so eager to get fucked in my dressing room.” He sets a breakneck pace, skin slapping on skin so loud you know that anyone walking by his door would certainly hear you it, if any of Sackler’s fellow cast members had managed to stay this long that is.

As he continues to pound into you, Sackler’s hand snakes forward over the swell of your ass to press down on your back, sharpening the curve of your spine and allowing his cock to drive deeper into you.

“Is this what you want, baby? Hmm?” His voice is taunting and you love it, feeling the hot coil tighten even more in your belly. “You want a cock that’s got rave reviews?”

“No I-I-I -” you struggle to complete a statement because Sackler’s hand is back on your clit and he’s fucking you so hard into the arm of the couch and it’s all so much so much.

“What was that, slut?”

“I just want your cock,” you whine pathetically. Sackler’s hips stutter against you but he resumes his thrusting, uncharacteristically silent. His spongey cockhead bottoms out against your cervix and you gasp, tears forming in the corners of your eyes. “Everyone can look – they can see you perform – but they can’t – oh god!”

“They can’t what, baby?” he asks, tone gentler but pace no more relenting.

“They can’t have your cock.” You make a point of pushing back into him, meeting his trusts as you reach back with one hand and grasp his naked hip.

“It’s yours, baby?”

“It’s mine!” You hear yourself and you know you sound childish, sound desperate, sound needy. But you don’t care. He feels so good inside you and the pressure’s building. “I want it oh god I want it.”

“You have it, baby, you have it,” Sackler lets out a huffing breath that’s almost enamored. You’ve never been this needy, preferring instead usually to give off a more teasingly aloof vibe. You always enjoyed yourself, he made sure of that, but boy did you make him work for it. You falling apart in his hands, on his cock, it’s driving him up the wall in ways he couldn’t have imagined.

Forget the review, this is the biggest shot to his ego he’s ever had.

Sackler spears into you with a particularly skillful thrust and the delicious way it hits the perfect spot inside you makes you see stars.

“Adam, I’m gonna cum.”

“Do it. Cum on my cock. It’s yours – cum on it right the fuck now.”

His words, and the swirl of his finger on your clit, send you rocketing over the edge. His name, chanted over and over, spills from your lips, spurring him on. You have the wherewithal to keep pushing back into him as he reaches his own climax. He spills deep inside you and it feels definitive. You feel ownership of the cum that seeps out of you when he pulls out. Feel ownership of the large, warm hand that draws your dress back over your ass and pulls you up from your position over the arm of the couch.

You tuck your tits back into your dress as well but before you can do anything else he’s on you again. Holding you tight to him and cradling your face. Sackler pulls you into a languid kiss that you are eager to reciprocate.

“I’m yours.” Sackler says it against your lips. The words are short, but they, too, are definitive. Your heart swells and now you are the one with hands that need occupying. Energy that needs somewhere to go. You take a deep breath and opt for a simple reply.

“I’m yours, too. Now let’s go celebrate more at home!”

~*~


End file.
